"But, Onésime, listen to me—"
"Who knows but she may be dead, dead, and you are concealing it from me? You think you are acting for the best, aunt, but you are mistaken. The truth, no matter how terrible it may be, will do me much less harm than this state of frightful uncertainty. Sleeping and waking, I am a prey to the most terrible fears. I would a hundred times rather be dead than live in this state of suspense."
"Listen, then, but promise to be reasonable and have courage."
"Courage? Ah, I knew that some terrible calamity had occurred."
"Dear me! I knew it would be just this way whatever I said or did!" cried poor Suzanne. "You see yourself that at the very first word I say to you—"
"Oh, my God! I had a presentiment of it. She is dead!"
"No, no, she is living, she is living. I swear it! She has suffered terribly,—she has been alarmingly ill, but her life is no longer in danger."
"It has been in danger, then?"
"Yes, for two days, but I have just seen her and talked with her, and there is no longer cause for the slightest anxiety."
"God be thanked!" exclaimed Onésime, fervently. "And how much I thank you, too, my dear aunt. Ah, if you knew how much good you have done me, and how relieved I feel. Is M. Cloarek here?"